


You're So Lovely When You Cry

by justanothermaniac



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Derogatory Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Sexual Abuse, Sibling Incest, Slurs, Slut Shaming, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-12-14 15:04:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21017747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothermaniac/pseuds/justanothermaniac
Summary: Jerome always makes sure he still has tears left to cry.





	You're So Lovely When You Cry

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS!!! I'M SO SORRY I'VE BEEN GONE FOR SO LONG SO HAVE SOME EXTRA HORRIBLE TWINLESKA.
> 
> I mean it. I'm an awful person. Mind the tags.
> 
> I'll try to update more regularly again, but work is crazy lately, so I don't dare to make any promises, I hope you guys can forgive me.
> 
> BTW, you may find a small sort-of-reference to my Twin Flames series here. If you read it, you'll know what I'm talking about.
> 
> Last line inspired by Bea from the stunningly great show Bojack Horseman. Watch that show, folks. Do it. 
> 
> Love you all!
> 
> ~ jam 💙

Jeremiah's hand is shaking as he reaches for his cup. It doesn't worry him though. He's constantly shaking, the slight tremor has become as much part of him as his freckles or his red hair. Seventeen years of constantly being on edge in a most toxic environment can do that to a person.

He takes a sip from his tea, the warmth sending a pleasant shudder down his spine. He allows himself to close his eyes for a moment and dive deep into his mind, past his thoughts (his thoughts are dangerous and he tries to avoid them as often as he can) and lets his imagination carry him far away from the trailer, far away from Haly's Circus.

He thinks that maybe, if things were just a little bit different, they could've lived in an actual apartment. He imagines large windows and pretty white walls, littered with framed pictures of a happy, laughing family, a family that is nothing like his own. He imagines a new, soft couch without holes, and maybe a balcony, with a cute set of outdoor furniture, nothing like the two mismatched plastic chairs in front of the trailer. 

He imagines his room. He'd have a bookshelf in there and a desk where he'd be able to draw without getting a sore back and neck. He'd own a set of colored pencils, maybe even more than just one, and several sketchbooks and a pencil sharpener, and an eraser so he wouldn't have to use his finger. And a closet with an actual suspension rod for him to hang his clothes neatly, instead of being forced to fold them and put them next to Jerome's pile of clothes, who'd mess Jeremiah's up too just to be a dick.

Jerome.

And just like that, the illusion is gone. Jeremiah opens his eyes at the painful twist of his stomach. He meets the gaze of his reflection in his now cold tea and for a second, it's not himself he sees. He puts the cup down, fingers twisting in a desperate attempt to still the tremble. 

He doesn't want to think about what could've been when it comes to Jerome. Because he already knows. He remembers when they were little, around three or four, before his brother's soul started to crack. He remembers constantly holding hands, warm, inviting hugs, tiny limbs entangled at night to seek comfort in each other, the only comfort ever known or needed. He remembers bright, happy grins and tickle fights.

Despite those being actual memories, they seem surreal, like another fantasy. 

Jeremiah used to feel like his twin was replaced. Switched at night, with a manipulative, psychotic monster. They share the same grin and the same in glint in their eyes but that's all the monster has in common with the Jerome Jeremiah once knew.

Jeremiah doesn't want to hold Jerome's hand anymore. His hugs are no longer warm and inviting, but crushing and possessive. Jeremiah doesn't feel comforted anymore by Jerome's arms around him at night, because it feels like Jerome is trying to break his bones, nails digging so deep into Jeremiah's skin that they draw blood.

His grin looks identical to what it used to, but he wears it in all the wrong situations. And the tickle fights, well...

Jeremiah's skin crawls, like a thousand ants trying to gnaw their way into his flesh. The stairs outside creak and he jumps, almost feeling the rough grip in his hair and identical lips claiming his own. He ignores the surge of arousal, shaking his head and digging his nails into his thighs. _Stop it. You're better than this. You're not like him. _

The raspy, yet feminine cough that comes from behind the door makes him relax. It's only Lila. And true to herself, she stumbles inside, her dark curls sticking to her sweaty face. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes bloodshot. Jeremiah can only guess the amount of substances in her system. 

She spots him on the couch. "Where'surbrother?", she slurs, dropping her purse, but not before pulling out a flask.

The mention of Jerome makes Jeremiah flinch for what feels like the hundredth time. "I don't know", he answers truthfully, forced to scoot to the right when Lila motions to flop down on the couch next to him. He scrunches his nose at the nauseating stench of alcohol, cheap perfume and sweat. Wherever Lila has been the last twenty-four hours, she definitely wasn't alone.

"Never 'round when I need 'em, fuckin' brat." Lila reaches for the cigarettes and lighter on the couch table. "Zack won't get off my ass. Keeps whinin' that he hasn't had a proper smoke in weeks. In what universe am I any less broke than he is? Ain't my fault he don't know his way around a deal."

_Knowing your way around a deal_ as in _selling your body for booze, weed and pills._ Jeremiah doesn't have the energy to feign interest in his mother's rambles, so he just shrugs. Lila isn't looking at him anyway, so it doesn't even matter.

She holds the cigarettes out to him and Jeremiah hates how his fingers start to itch. He tries actively not to smoke but he has been a smoker ever since Jerome stole a half empty package out of Lila's purse when they were ten. He still remembers how it burned when he took his first drag. Jerome made him smoke three whole cigarettes before he got bored and kept the rest for himself.

Just as he decides he's going to take the offer, Lila shrugs and tosses the package back on the table. He feels a small whirl of gratitude inside his chest. "Ya can't imagine the shit Wade made me do for a lil' extra weed. Sick fuck. Gonna be feelin' this for days."

Jeremiah winces, trying to will away the images that start flashing before his inner eye. "The things ya do for family. Make sure ya don't dedicate yourself to Jerome as much as I dedicate myself to Zack."

Jeremiah wants to laugh but he's afraid that if he opens his mouth, he's going to throw up instead. Lila sighs and pulls a small plastic bag out of her bra. "Too late to complain now. Be a dear and get this to your uncle, will ya?" 

Jeremiah feels his stomach tightening at the request. And yet, delivering a bag of weed to his drunk and equally short-tempered uncle sounds just a little bit better than being cooped up with his intoxicated mother while waiting for the inevitable return of his unpredictable nutcase of a twin. "Okay." He takes the bag and gets to his feet. 

Lila hums and falls to the side as soon as Jeremiah got off the couch. "Thanks, baby," she coos, already on the brink of passing out. "You're mommy's good boy."

Throwing up seems to be inevitable tonight.

* * *

Uncle Zack is passed out on the stairs of his own trailer. He's snoring loudly, which means he's not dead and Jeremiah feels less relieved than he probably should. He decides to leave the plastic bag in the moldy cabinet (which only contains a plate and two mugs, one of which has a broken handle) and manages to close the door again behind himself without stepping on his uncle's reddened face. As tempted as he is.

He shivers a little and wraps his arms around himself. It's quite chilly out and he's only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and one of Jerome's sleepshirts _<strike>(because it's comfortable, not because it smells like him and Jeremiah wants to drown in his scent)</strike>_<strike></strike> but he doesn't want to go home yet. Not only is Lila probably as passed out as Zack is right now but Jerome might be back soon too. And as high as Jeremiah's tolerance is, once in a while he'd prefer some peace of mind. Is that really too much to ask?

It is. Jeremiah knows it is. 

But he could still walk around the city aimlessly for a while. Get on the highest building he can find and watch the stars. Although the temptation to jump might be a little too high. Jeremiah wouldn't be opposed if taking his own life actually _solved_ his problems.

"Aaand where are _you_ off to exactly?"

Jeremiah flinches, his blood running cold. He stays still for just a second before he starts walking again. He isn't doing anything he shouldn't be doing. Lila sent him here. He has every right to be outside.

(he doesn't bother with thinking about not being Jerome's property, because that ship has sailed and sunk to the bottom of the ocean years ago) 

"Nowhere", Jeremiah whispers, keeping his eyes front, hoping, begging an unknown force that Jerome will just let it go. It's ridiculous, really, knowing Jerome as well as he unfortunately does.

His brother giggles, like he's genuinely in hysterics. "Nowhere! Huh...makes sense, cuz our trailer's the other way."

Jeremiah gasps for air when an arm hooks itself around his throat. Jerome's breath is hot against his ear. He smells of blood and chocolate. Jerome always smells like chocolate _<strike>(as do his clothes, which is why Jeremiah steals them, shut up shut up shut up)</strike>._

"Y'know, if I didn't know better..." Jerome flicks his tongue out and licks the spot behind Jeremiah's ear, making him shiver. "I'd think that you're trying to _hide_ from me, brother dearest." 

Jeremiah's lips press into a firm line. "It's...difficult to hide from someone whose...whose only purpose in life is to make yours a living hell", he grits out, eyes squeezing shut when Jerome's other hand slides under his shirt and splays over his belly. 

"I'm the cat and you're the canary, baby brother. That's our thing. Never change a running system! 'sides, it ain't like you'd survive a _day_ without me..." Jerome scratches over the soft flesh, nuzzling the side of Jeremiah's neck when he hisses and tries to turn his head away. "You neeeeed me. Who's gonna protect ya from the mean ol' bullies out to get your nerdy little ass?"

"You're the only bully in my life..!"

"That make me your _favorite? ~"_

Jeremiah inhales deeply through his nose. "I'm not in the mood for this, let me go." He tries to elbow Jerome in the chest, knowing very well he's going to regret it. But it doesn't matter anyway, because Jerome anticipated it and quickly let go of Jeremiah, only to grab him by the hair and yank his head back.

Jeremiah whines and digs his fingernails in Jerome's wrist. He's completely unimpressed. "Oh, I'll _get_ ya in the mood", he coos, forcing Jeremiah to walk again, maneuvering them behind Uncle Zack's trailer. "I was _so_ disappointed when I came home and I didn't find ya splayed out on the bed. Only thing I found was Lila clutching a bottle to her chest like a fucking teddy bear. It's pretty funny, isn't it? Imagine she'd love us like that!"

Jerome is rambling, voicing every thought that runs through his head without filtering any of it. It's habit he developed to cope with the abuse. It should provide at least a small amount of comfort, but Jeremiah finds it does the exact opposite the older they get. It's terrifying that Jerome is so unimpressed by his vile actions. 

Jeremiah remembers when they were seven. Uncle Zack dislocated Jerome's arm, leaving Jeremiah with the responsibility to pop it back in its socket.

The sound was sickening, even more so than Jerome's blood-curdling scream. He was shaking, his hair stuck to his sweaty temples and forehead. And then he started giggling, fingers rapidly finding Jeremiah's. _"Miah, imagine, imagine if humans didn't have bones. We'd be these gigantic, pink blobs, wouldn't that be hilarious, Miah?" _

Jerome shoves him against the trailer, the aluminum cold enough for him to feel it through the thin fabric of his shirt. He gasps, body going rigid when he feels Jerome's bulge press against the curve of his ass. "Buuut let's not talk about Lila. Time for some brotherly bonding, don't'cha think?" 

"Are you out of your mind?"

It's a ridiculous thing to ask. Jerome seems to agree because he snorts. Jeremiah tries anyway. "L-Lila or Zack could...catch us an-any second..!" He bites his lip when Jerome's hand slides into his sweatpants, palming at his half-hard cock. He wants to cry.

"Unc's out cold and don't worry that pretty little head of yours about momsie. She'd probably enjoy the show." Jerome rolls his hips and Jeremiah manages to hold back a moan. "Bet she'd looove the look on her precious little angel's face when he cums all over himself, his horrible, _rotten_ brother's cock buried _deep_ inside that tight little ass..." He giggles, nipping at Jeremiah's earlobe. "Hell knows _I_ love that visual. She might just cum herself." 

Jerome's hand feels too good and Jeremiah can still feel the pressure against his ass. He can't control his physical reaction to stimuli of this kind and that's why Jeremiah's stomach heats up. _That's why. _"You're disgusting..!", he wants to hiss but it comes out as a whimper. Jeremiah wants to rip his own throat out. And then Jerome's. 

Jerome is tugging his sweatpants down. The cold hitting his most private parts makes Jeremiah shudder and resist the urge to lean back against him for warmth. "Uh-huh. Not even gonna deny that. Buuut, what exactly does that make _you?_ You're the one who's spreading his legs for me ~"

He lets go of Jeremiah's hair, still palming his dick while using the other to knead the flesh of Jeremiah's buttocks. "Keep playin' hard to get though, you know I enjoy a challenge." 

Jeremiah is torn between the two sensations he wants to buck into but he tries to keep his body still. He won't give Jerome that satisfaction. "Don't you have homeless people to mutilate?"

Jerome laughs. He withdraws his hands to grab Jeremiah by the hips instead, forcefully turning him around. "Night's still young. Plenty of time to properly ravish my baby brother." He pins Jeremiah's wrists to the trailer and noses at the side of his face. Jeremiah closes his eyes and tries to ignore the scent of chocolate filling his nostrils and to focus on the blood instead. He finds doesn't make a difference. "And plus, mutilation's _so_ much more fun when it's done on someone you love ~"

Jeremiah's breath hitches when when Jerome's grip on his right wrist disappears to rake his nails down his arm "Whattaya say, broski? Want me to get the knife? I can make them permanent this time. So _everyone_ will know."

"No..!" Jeremiah still remembers it vividly, the sloppy letters carved into his skin, angry red wounds screaming _Jerome's._ They were nine years old. "Please...please, Jerome, don't, not that..!"

He's pathetic. A pathetic, broken, sick little boy with a body that is far too grown for his state of mind. A little boy who'll always be afraid of the monsters not under, but _in_ his bed. There's two of them and albeit presenting differently, one loud and growling with its teeth bared, the other silent with its mouth closed to hide a venomous bite, at their core, they're identical. 

Jerome hums, the tip of his nose cold against Jeremiah's skin. "Tell ya what." He presses a sickenly sweet kiss to Jeremiah's cheek before punching him in the stomach.

Jeremiah sputters and doubles over, saliva dripping from his mouth. Jerome's hand curls in his hair again and Jeremiah gets forced on his knees. "Get those cocksucker-lips where they belong and I'll think about it. That's fair, right?"

It's not fair at all. But Jeremiah's life has never been fair. He lifts his hands _(trembling, always trembling)_ and pops open the button of Jerome's jeans before pulling down the zipper. Jerome pats his head encouragingly and it makes this a thousand times more humiliating than it would be. Jeremiah feels like a pet.

(he is a pet. A monster on another monster's leash, a little boy afraid of his bloody reflection.) 

Jerome gives a low moan when Jeremiah obediently wraps his lips around his cock. His grip on his hair tightens again and Jeremiah hates how his heart gives a jolt at the action.

He hates how he has to keep himself from moaning at the familiar stretch, the salty taste of Jerome's precum. He hates how he holds on to Jerome's hips for support, he hates how his eyes slip shut as he takes Jerome as deep as he can, a pleasant shiver running down his spine. _Hate, hate, hate._

He must hate this, because hating this is the only thing that distinguishes him from Jerome. 

Jerome has started talking but despite of what he's saying, Jeremiah isn't sure if he's even looking at him. "Look at you. Ain't got the - _fuck_ \- balls to talk to a, a girl but here - shit, _yes_ \- here you are, taking your brother's cock like, like you're fucking _starving."_

Jeremiah's stomach twists painfully and he squeezes his eyes shut even tighter. Jerome starts fucking his mouth, Jeremiah's grip on his hips tightening at the sheer brutality of it. Hot tears are streaming down his cheeks, he's choking and Jerome keeps hitting the back of his throat -

Jeremiah sucks in a breath of air when Jerome pulls out. He coughs and wheezes, sweaty palms pressing against his own throat. He can practically hear Jerome's eye roll. "Stop being so fucking dramatic, you've done this too many times for that shit to be believable."

Jeremiah is hunched over, bracing himself against the grass with one hand while still gripping his throat with the other. "I hate you", he rasps, not even believing himself. And even if he did, it wouldn't make a difference. 

Jerome's knowing giggle feels like a stab right between his ribs. "You don't. But..." He drops to his knees and yanks Jeremiah's head back. He's smiling, wriggling his eyebrows. "Keep pretending if it makes ya feel better about yourself." 

Jeremiah wants to protest when Jerome's lips find his own, but he melts right into it, his body betraying him once more. Jerome's lips are soft and warm, moving against Jeremiah's like they were meant to be there. The thought is terrifying.

Jerome breaks the kiss, nuzzling his nose against Jeremiah's. It's a faux-sweet distraction, a predator hiding in the tall grass before going in for the kill. "So easy for me...", he coos and Jeremiah winces. "On all fours, golden son."

Just once, Jeremiah wants to have a choice in the matter. Even if it's only to decide the time and place he lets his brother have his with way with him. "Please..." He decides he has nothing to lose. If he ever possessed anything close to dignity, it's long gone. He twists his fingers together because there's not much else he can do with them. He's not going to touch Jerome. It's all the defiance he can muster. "Not here, Jerome. Just...let's just go home..."

He tries to remember the last time Jerome accounted for his feelings or thoughts. He can't even trigger a vague shadow of a memory. Which is why he's not surprised when Jerome shoves him down, knocking the remaining air out of Jeremiah in the process. The grass is cold and wet, Jeremiah can feel dirt sticking to his cheeks when Jerome pushes his head down. He feels dirty, gross and worthless. He _is_ dirty, gross and worthless.

Jerome slaps Jeremiah's ass once, not to be playful, but because he knows Jeremiah finds it degrading and repulsive. It's also an unspoken order for him to pull his knees up.

Jeremiah does because, really, what choice is he left with? He bites down on his hand when a slicked up finger prods at his entrance and for a brief second he's surprised that Jerome sucked on his own fingers instead of forcing Jeremiah to do it. It's very telling that he considers _that_ to be the weirdest aspect about this whole situation.

"Been wanting to do this all day," Jerome murmurs somewhere behind him, another finger joining in spreading Jeremiah apart, his other hand resting heavily on his lower back. "There was this college slut I ran into...well, more than just _ran,_ really. And while she was _begging_ me stop, as if she didn't _ask_ for it with that ridiculously short skirt, all I could think about was my sweet, sweet baby brother ~" 

Jerome crooks both of his fingers and Jeremiah whines against his hand. He wishes Jerome would stop voicing his every thought during this, this...

Jeremiah never _did_ get around to find a proper term to describe...this. Jerome calls it _brotherly bonding_ which is despicable in every possible way. Jeremiah _wants_ to call it rape or abuse but he's very familiar with both of these terms (he thinks he should've taken his chance and stabbed Uncle Zack in the throat while he was passed out and helpless on the stairs) and neither of them fit the relationship he has with Jerome. 

Jerome is _being_ abusive, definitely. Jeremiah could never and _would_ never deny that. Jerome _takes,_ he takes what he wants when he wants it, he'll take it if he has to dig through rotten flesh and bones for it.

Yet, Jerome couldn't _take_ if Jeremiah didn't _let_ him. Jeremiah would kill himself before claiming that he _gives_ but he's not fighting nearly enough to claim the victim status he so desperately craves.

He wants to be a victim. He wants to call Jerome a rapist. Because that would be so much easier to deal with than admitting that he actually wants Jerome to take. 

Jeremiah's body jolts forward a little when he feels the sharp caress of fingernails down his back under his shirt. "What's the matter, little brother?", Jerome giggles, ripping his fingers out of him at once. "Not enjoying yourself?"

He sighs, exasperation evident and Jeremiah wants to turn around and strangle him, push him to the ground, fingers locked tight around his throat and push push _push,_ lean his entire body weight on his hands, watch the light leave Jerome's eyes, his limbs twitching until they still, never to lash out again.

Jeremiah wants. He _wants._

He digs his fingers into the wet ground beneath him, forced to withdraw his hand from his mouth to brace himself when Jerome breaches him. He steals a glance at his hand, pinkish tooth marks throbbing as they trickle red.

He cries out when Jerome slams into him, the stretch _unbearable_ and Jeremiah is a little amazed that he hasn't gotten used to it by now. Not because of the sheer embarrassing number of times this happened already, but because like everything Jerome does, it's all about breaking, hurting, tearing apart.

And Jeremiah is Jerome's favorite thing to tear apart. 

"Tsk. Look at all the dirt you're getting under your fingernails. Filthy, filthy, filthy...", Jerome rasps as he pulls out, slowly, slamming back in with full force, only to pull out quicker this time and thrusting in harshly once more. He's deliberately not setting a rhythm, just to coax those shocked, ragged little cries out of Jeremiah. No amount of discomfort could ever be great enough for Jerome to _not_ do everything in his power to make Jeremiah miserable. "Whining like the thirsty little cockslut you are. Just how big brother likes it ~ "

Jeremiah feels like there's a rope around his throat pulling tighter with every thrust. His knees are sore but not sore enough to distract him from the pain in his backside. Jeremiah is certain he must be bleeding and Jerome's, dare he say, _needy_ gasp tells him that yes, he's definitely bleeding.

Jeremiah wants to cry so bad but his tears have dried. At least for the time being. Jerome always makes sure he still has tears left to cry. "I hope you're aware", he breathes out, forehead pressed into the grass. His glasses are sitting on his face in an awkward angle, the edges biting into his nose and under his eyes. "...that you're a repulsive excuse of a human being..!"

Jerome's laugh is breathless but it cuts through Jeremiah's heart like a blade. "No need to flatter me, broski. I'm already head over heels for ya ~" 

Jeremiah tries to flee into his fantasy, the reality he created for himself and _only_ himself. He pictures the white walls, the balcony, his room, _his_ room, no Jerome, no Jerome anywhere. Maybe Jerome can be dead in this fantasy, never born, non-existant. But as enticing as that thought is, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Because without Jerome, there would be no Jeremiah. It's cruel, really. Being twins, their barely even existing age difference shouldn't matter (as much as Jerome tries to make it matter), but being born thirteen minutes after him makes Jeremiah an extension, less than an accessory, useless baggage that wasn't supposed to be there.

There is no life without Jerome, not even in his imagination. Jeremiah may never know what he did to deserve that but it wouldn't matter anyway. Even if he killed himself, Jerome would follow. So he could keep tormenting Jeremiah in hell.

And Jeremiah has to stop, to focus back on reality because the thought of Jerome being just as dependant on him as he is on Jerome makes his chest flutter. He is truly and undoubtedly a broken soul with a fucked up brain.

"I'll leave you..!", he gasps uselessly, interrupted by a high-pitched moan when Jerome hits his prostate, making his skin tingle and his stomach burn hot. "One day...one day I'll make it out of here and then...then you'll have...no one..!"

He doesn't know why he feels the need to lie like this, since, _because_ it's a lie and they both _know_ it, it won't hurt Jerome. If anything, it'll only rile him up more. And Jeremiah doesn't want to believe that _that_ is the reason he said it. It can't be. It mustn't. Fate has already screwed him over in every possible way. If he can't even pretend anymore, what else is there to cling to?

Jerome has finally started an actual rhythm, at least giving Jeremiah a small chance to adjust. "Ya sure _that's_ how it's gonna happen?", he says with a giggle, a death grip on Jeremiah's hips._"I'm_ the one with the charisma, precious boy. Always have been. People like me, they wanna be around me, they wanna _be_ me. You?"

He slaps Jeremiah's ass again, hard enough to burn and loud enough to echo within Jeremiah's ears. He wants to throw up. "Not so much. You're a stuck-up, condescending little bitch with literally _zero_ social skills. I'm the only one who even bothers acknowledging your _existence._"

"Don't...don't act like...like that's not your fault..!", Jeremiah tries to argue, and even if it was the most convincing argument in the world, the broken whimpers that keep interrupting him are definitely not helping. "You, you're the one who...who keeps me locked away..!" 

"Well, duh. You know I don't share my toys. 'specially not my _favorite_ toy. Though I'm probably givin' ya too much credit. Ain't like anyone would ever spare ya a second glance." Jerome leans forward, his own hands pressed flat to the grass next to Jeremiah's. Even though they're identical, they look so much bigger right now, given that Jeremiah's fingers are crooked as they're gripping the grass. 

Jerome's breath is hot against the back of his ear. "Ya think anyone else could ever love you? I'm the only one you have ~" He flicks his tongue over Jeremiah's earlobe again and his effort to hold back a shiver is pointless. "And you _know_ it. That's why you love this so much. Stop denying it. You're wearing _my shirt_ right now, precious boy, and most importantly, I've seen your pretty drawings. Disfigured versions of chicks that flirted with me. Remember Cathy? You drew her with her limbs severed."

Jeremiah's stomach churns and he squeezes his eyes shut. He remembers Cathy vividly. The light brown color of her hair matching her eyes, the infuriating expression of constant sadness. He still hates her with a passion, hopes that she's rotting in hell, knows that she's not. Cathy was broken but not yet shattered. Jeremiah wishes she would've stayed alive long enough for it to happen. 

"So hot", Jerome continues, striking that _spot_ again and the knot in Jeremiah's stomach loosens as it warms up. "I don't jerk of that much, given that, well..." Jerome pulls out completely before snapping his hips forward again. Jeremiah chokes on a breath, his glasses slipping from his nose as his body gives a jerk. He's slick with sweat and sticky with dirt and grass. 

"But that drawing? Fuck, that was one hell of a wank, baby bro, gonna give ya that. Point is..." He noses at the side of Jeremiah's face, the satisfied grin he must be wearing evident in his smug tone. "That's why you throw yourself at me whenever some cheap slut tries to push her tits in my face. Start inhaling my dick as soon as I so much _look_ at a girl when you're around."

Jeremiah sucks in a breath when one of Jerome's hands wraps around his aching cock. Jerome isn't being considerate though, deliberately not aligning the movement of his hand with his thrusts. He keeps Jeremiah building it up, only to grip tightly at the base to prevent him from coming.

Jeremiah hates him. He hates Jerome so much, with every fiber of his being, he hates, hates _hates_ Jerome. Jerome who makes his existence a living hell. Jerome who keeps hurting him. Jerome who brings out the worst in him. Jerome who's the only person Jeremiah will ever feel a connection to. 

"You're as crazy for me as I am for you ~" Jerome kisses his temple. "But even if ya weren't, as you're so keen on pretending..." He bites down on Jeremiah's shoulder before licking the spot and sucking a mark into it. "You're _mine._ You're not going _anywhere."_

There's a crushing finality to his words and Jeremiah sobs. Like he's predicted. Jerome always makes sure he still has tears left to cry. "You're a nightmare..!"

Jerome chuckles but there's not a trace of humor in it. "I'm your very own, personal nightmare, sweet-cheeks ~"

Jerome pulls out completely once more to flip Jeremiah around. It's the first time this night he actually sees Jerome's face, even though it's a blur due to his glasses having slipped of his face. But Jerome leans forward a bit more and Jeremiah's vision clears.

He looks beautiful, his fluffy red hair falling in his face, pale cheeks flushed and speckled with what Jeremiah assumes is _the college slut's_ blood, the blood Jeremiah has been able to smell this whole time.

Jeremiah shouldn't be feeling so grounded. Jeremiah shouldn't be feeling like he belongs. Jeremiah shouldn't be.

He shouldn't _be. _

Jerome pushes his knees up. "I love you", he breathes out with a smirk, eyes falling closed when he pushes in once more.

Jeremiah chokes, his heart giving a guilty clench. "Stop it..!"

Jerome wraps a hand around one of Jeremiah's wrists and pulls it towards his dick, silently telling him to stroke himself. "I love you so much", he says again, opening his eyes, his expression screaming _want_ and holding a warmth that makes Jeremiah want to scream. "My precious baby brother. So smart, so pretty..."

The words make him feel fuzzy and he knows that's why Jerome is saying them. He's mocking him, grooming him, telling him what he craves to hear from the only person in his life that matters. Jeremiah squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn't have to look at Jerome anymore and starts moving his hand along with the rhythm Jerome set, his jaw dropping but no sound coming out. He wants this to end. He wants this to last. He feels so much want he can't pinpoint, it's agonizing. 

Jerome is nuzzling his temple. "I really do love you, Miah." He says it earnestly, his voice holding a tremor it only holds when he feels vulnerable.

Jeremiah's chest is caving in. He wraps his arms around Jerome's neck and buries his face in his shoulder, the scent of blood and chocolate filling his nostrils and making him feel safer than any fantasy. "I love you too..!"

Saying those words hurts more than any form of abuse ever could. Because they are the truest thing Jeremiah will ever say.

Jerome kisses him. He kisses him deeply, desperately, gentler than Jeremiah ever deemed possible. He whines into Jerome's mouth as he comes, feeling himself clamp down on Jerome's cock, sending him over the edge as well. Jeremiah cries out, his brother's release hot and burning, adding to the painful throb of his inner walls. 

Jerome collapses on top of him, heavy and warm even with the cold seeping through his shirt from beneath him. Jeremiah's arms are still locked tight around Jerome's neck and he finds that he can't bring himself to let go. Not yet.

He feels soft lips against his cheek and shivers, something tugging at his heart, insistent and cruel. "Why can't we just be okay?", Jeremiah finds himself croak, expecting his brother to laugh at him and mock him for being so disgustingly pathetic, the little boy already shielding his face inside his mind. 

But laughter never comes.

Instead, Jerome kisses his cheek again.

"We're Valeskas. Ain't no cure for that."


End file.
